Wednesday 5/15/2013

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Filling out applications, exercising
the body, washing dishes, cooking a meal,
responding to email, filling out forms,
taking out trash. Call them “mundane”
as if one could do without all this
attention to detail; as if survival
didn’t depend on it. Writing a poem, too
is somehow necessary. Stopping to look
at photos of life during segregation as if
borders don’t summon gunshots on
the other side of town. And survival
somewhere isn’t a matter of staying
behind the line or negotiating a slim
margin between here and there.

Tuesday 5/14/2013

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Dreamless short sleep 
     mish mash
           rattled on about
"Searching for Sugarman"
                flipping e-mails
the photo of hatchlings    four
   yellow beaks, blind eye slits

day slid on
     into afternoon 
a three dollar
                   banh mi
lots of hoisin sauce
habitual sriracha
   
chewing selfhood quietly
   at the table     listening
       to reports of double
mastectomies    the new
   oil geography
                Rios Montt
(Rigoberta Menchu
              still kicking)

among the fractured
the juried
       the vindicated
perhaps
            the dead listen
while Tyler prepares
for zombies
       in Big Sur Paradise
stray hairs cross
my shivering
              skin

Sunday 5/12/2013

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excerpted from my bookshelf:


use your noodle for
more than a hatrack
act like you got the sense
God gave a gopher

          --- Harryette Mullen, "From Muse and Drudge," Proliferation.

Monday 5/6/2013

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A day of simple, unhappy tasks
     uneasy in body
           and looking out on the field

without really looking
     one confesses
           sometimes in a poem

to no one particularly
     although the poem online is, maybe,
            a tattoo you wear forever

doesn't even lose its edge --
     as your skin's oils and acids
             would blur a tattoo's ink --

but just sits there, dated
     in the laptop's lightbox
             the evidence 

thankfully edged out of the way
     by the next day and the next
             little talk with yourself

Thursday 5/2/2013

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A peacock is wailing out there
          in the dark, a dog barking

Crickets
          eternal soundings

   today's walk among the giant jacks
on the breakwater
salt spray
splatters
            the dredger's endless
task   because
          it wasn't the best place
to build a harbor.
 
          Lunch with you baby
pad Thai and red curry
Diversity Center's
friendly couch and tipsy
paintings, pamphlets explaining
how to do it safely
          "gonna be the worst fire
season ever"
          and yeah on the radio it's
already started, Santa Ana winds
down south. Dry as bone here
      Disney pulls out of
Bangladesh. "Meetings." 
             On Dolan road
the Oxalis has been halfway mowed;
great swaths of un-
yellow make plain
       the hiding places
of small creatures. A boon
                for the hawks